


Constant

by Sebe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Frontotemporal Dementia, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sebe/pseuds/Sebe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles fought the darkness, is still fighting his own mind. They can fight for Stiles. Scott can.<br/>Brotp Scott and Stiles. Hints of more than bros for a couple others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant

Author's Notes: The nogitsune is gone, but Stiles is still suffering the after effects and the deterioration of his mind.

Summary: Stiles fought the darkness, is still fighting his own mind. They can fight for Stiles. Scott can.  
Brotp Scott and Stiles. Hints of more than bros for a couple others.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Constant

 

Scott's all instinct when Stiles' eyes roll back and he drops to the ground.

They'd been fine. Just being with the pack, safe. There was laugher and movies and Stiles' voice with none of the bitten cruel tone of the monster that had tried to destroy them all months ago. Scott was happy, content, his pack around him in a way he'd once thought they never would be. Stiles beside him with eyes still too bruised and bones too sharp under skin, but it was okay. It was good. And so, so much better. Stiles always swayed a bit now, went lightheaded too easily. But everything was better, everything was okay. Until, again, it suddenly wasn't.

Scott reaches out and catches the arm Stiles was moving vaguely towards him when the edges of his vision started darkening. He catches Stiles like they'd done for each other all their lives and eases him to the ground before he can hit hard. 

And then he freezes. Because Stiles isn't getting right back up and that's not something Scott knows how to deal with. They stumble, fall, catch each other, and pull themselves back up. They don't stay down. Stiles doesn't stay down.

The others are around them now. Lydia on her knees in front of Stiles, pushing his hair back and worriedly calling out, tapping his cheek lightly. Derek's behind him, hand on the back of his neck trying to draw pain that's ninety percent mental and inaccessible, but concentrating on that other ten percent like it's his only focus in life. 

And Scott's not doing anything.

He feels muted. Everything around him fuzzy and far away. Except Stiles' gasps for air. He hears that. Scott still can't move. He looks down at Stiles, head pillowed on his lap, and takes in the half-lidded eyes and pale skin.

Eventually, Scott feels someone pulling with increasing insistence at his arm, trying to move him away. He doesn't budge. He might be too spaced and panicked to move and help, but he'd never be too far out to leave Stiles when he wasn't okay. He was not okay. 

He hears Kira plead with him and pull again. He doesn't listen.

Then there's a low, distressed and anxious growl and a hand on his chest pushing him back as Kira pulls again. He's shoved a good ten feet away and Derek slides in and takes his place. Scott almost lunges, eyes red and angrier than he'd been in a very long time before he notices Stiles is shaking much worse than just stilted gasps for air. 

Lydia and Derek have moved to basically cage his body with theirs as he seizes. Lydia crouches over him, not restraining, but keeping his arms from hitting the ground with bruising momentum, keeps his back from arching too sharply. Derek has his hands bracketing Stiles' head to keep him from slamming it back to the hard floor.

The tinge of red and fangs fades as quickly as it came. Kira stays next to him, maybe slightly in front, maybe to keep him from interfering. She knows Scott's not in his right mind now and won't let him hinder the others as they try and help Stiles. Scott's thankful he can trust her to protect Stiles, even from Scott's panicked best intentions. But he's not trying to push through them. 

As the minutes, minutes, drag on, Scott's eyes are glued to his friend. Scott's heart beats faster even as he starts wishing it to stop beating at all because Stiles' lips are turning blue and he can't do this. What's the point if he's losing Stiles all over again?

Isaac's pacing like a caged animal while Allison is almost rocking on the balls of her feet, wanting to help, but knowing there's nothing they can do. It was getting worse and they all knew it. 

The deterioration of Stiles' mind and the damage the nogitsune left after they'd pulled it out of him were still hurting him, killing him. Stiles was still dying. Piece by piece Scott was losing him.

An eternity later, the spasms became less severe and almost purple lips parted to gasp in air. The rest of the room finally breathed deep again too. Scott scrambled forward at the same moment Derek half-turned to motion him over, already moving out of the way. Scott took his place eagerly, single-mindedly running his hands over Stiles' face, through his hair. He fumbled for one of Stiles' hands, brushing fingers over his knuckles to help unclench them from their claw-like state.

“Stiles. Stiles.” Not a question or attempt to get him to focus quickly. Scott knew he wouldn't. Only putting something out for his friend to hear and grab onto. 

When Stiles stopped shuddering with the deep gasps of much needed air, disoriented honey eyes flickered up to meet Scott's briefly. They were teary with pain that Derek, and now Isaac, were still trying to draw away. Even less than half-aware, Stiles knew he was losing this fight and he was scared. He'd been scared since this whole thing had started, but being able to see it unnerved Scott. Stiles never let on, tried to be steady for them all until, like now, he just couldn't anymore. He was sick and weak and tired, always tired. Scott was terrified, but he'd tamped down his panic in the last five minutes (almost six. He'd seized for almost six minutes and it was getting so much worse), smiled instead.

“I've got you.” He didn't think the words, it was automatic. Make it better. Make him stop hurting. Helphelphelp. “I've got you.” It was the only reassurance he could give that would never be a lie.

Stiles' eyes closed and his head lolled. Scott managed to stay calm somehow. He remembered that Stiles needed sleep. His body would shut down until it caught up with the exhaustion again. Scott hunched down over him; protective, like he could save Stiles from his own failing mind and body; desperate, because he knew he couldn't and he needed in his bones to be as close to the other as possible, hold on as tight as he could.

Scott didn't know how to pick Stiles up once he'd hit the ground and stayed there, but he was going to try. Push and pull and and force and wish. He'd keep pulling at Stiles even if he never gained any ground, even if he was dragged into the dark with him. 

Scott and Stiles. 

Where one went, the other followed. Too-tall slides, forbidden, hidden little spaces at both their parent's work, bodies in the woods, and wide open roads and fields that seemed to stretch on forever. Everywhere they'd ever been or could go. Just together.

Scott didn't know if he could get Stiles up and moving again, but if he couldn't, Scott would take his weight gladly and they could stumble and lurch their way onward; in darkness made bright with smiles and inside jokes and the immutable, constant presence at the other by their side.

Stiles had fought this far for the people he loved, for Scott. 

Scott could fight for Stiles.


End file.
